Just A Kiss
by Zaliika
Summary: Santana/Quinn and Santana/Brittany. Santana is hurt and confused when Quinn rejects her advances and denies her feelings.
1. Chapter 1

"It was just a kiss. It didn't mean anything."

I lay in bed with those words running through my head. No matter how much time passed, I could still see her clearly, the slight smile on her lips as she formed the words, masking the uncertainty in her eyes.

She hadn't meant it. I was sure that she hadn't truly meant it. I remembered that night, when she'd stood with me under the moon, and her arms had wrapped around my waist. I'd rested my hand against her cheek, stroked her hair, and she'd closed her eyes as our lips met in the darkness. I'd felt her fingers press against my back, pulling me against her as she pressed her mouth to mine. She'd acted without fear or restraint, she'd been the true beauty I knew she could be, the one who didn't care what everyone else thought or wanted.

But in the light of day, she was back to Miss Perfect. Back to the girl everyone admired, the girl who made her Daddy proud. Straight backed, white teethed, doe eyed, and never a hair out of place. The girl who pleased everyone but herself. The girl who broke my heart. And now I watched her walk through the halls, arm in arm with Mr Perfect, while no one else could see it for the lie that it was.

They loved her because she was perfect. But I loved her for who she was.

I turned my head, half wishing that she would be laying beside me. But the blonde who lay in her place was not quite as lovely or engaging. Her body warmed my bed, but she did nothing to feed my spirit. When I looked at her, I could never see her as she was, only as what she was not; not as beautiful in body, or mind, or soul; not _her_. It wasn't Brittany's fault; it was just that for all that she was, she wasn't my Quinn.

But for now, she was all I had. At least she didn't lie to me, or to herself. She didn't put up a face for the benefit of her admirers.

She didn't break my heart.


	2. Chapter 2

The crowd parts as I walk through the halls of William McKinley High School. No one wants to mess with Santana Lopez, the Cheerio with attitude. I am their queen, the one they all submit to, while they secretly crave and hate me in equal measure. It may be a life that others desire, but living it is hollow, without truth or meaning. I wonder if she ever feels the same.

But today, there is less focus on me than what I am used to. Instead, all eyes swing to her. While it is normal for her to receive the admiration of the masses, there is something subtly different in the way they glance at her. Their looks are swift, from the corners of their eyes, quickly followed by whispers in huddles against the walls. Some eyebrows lift contemptuously, and one set of lips curls in a smirk that I want to wipe away with my fist.

She walks ahead of us, always at the apex of this triangle of power, her eyes resolutely ahead, her ears deaf to the incessant murmur of teenage gossip. Until, without warning, she pales and runs through the crowds, crashing her way into the nearest bathroom.

She's pregnant.

Little Miss Perfect, Daddy's Little Angel. Head Cheerleader and President of the Chastity Club. Mrs Captain of the Football Team. Voted Most Beautiful, Most Likely To Succeed.

Pregnant.

Her fall from grace is hard and fast.

"How did it happen?" I wonder to myself. The question brings images to my mind that I do not want to see. The thought makes me sick to my stomach. To think of someone else laying hands on her… holding her in that way… I'll destroy Finn for this. Not only for getting her pregnant, and taking away her innocence. But because he dared to touch what was mine.

You're a hypocrite, a voice whispers. You let men touch your body every day. You let them use you for their own needs, while you lay there, an empty vessel trying to escape from the truth. You give your flesh to Brittany while you devour her soul, clinging to her as your substitute, pushing her away when her feelings reach out to you, like tendrils that strive to pin you down. Slut. Whore.

I ignore it. I do what I have to do. I do what I can to survive. I do what is expected of me in my role; the Cheerleader, the Man-eater. If only they knew what lurks beneath… they would not be so keen to follow me then. I would be as despised as the geeks, the Gleeks, the fags. So I cling to the arms of the strong, brainless men, and the beautiful, flexible girls.

And I watch her fall.


	3. Chapter 3

She won't talk to me about it.

"I'm _fine_" she tells me, with that half smile and laugh that is always followed by a roll of the eyes. "I'm just feeling a little… under the weather. You worry too much."

"Bullshit, Quinn." The fear is there in her eyes, not quite hidden by the smile. "Everyone knows. The whole school is talking about you."

"You have _no idea _what you're talking about." She turns her back on me, walks away. But we're alone in her room, and there's nowhere for her to go.

"What the hell were you thinking? I would expect this sort of shit from Brittany, but not from you."

"Shut up, Santana" she whispered, shoulders hunched, hands braced flat against her desk.

"I thought you were the smart one, Quinn. I thought you were going somewhere. I thought you were better than the rest of us. Not some dumb slut who doesn't even know how to use a condom."

"I said shut up." Less of a whisper and more of a growl this time, her voice was a warning to me of how many lines I was crossing. But I was too fired up to pay any attention.

"And with _Finn_? Seriously, girl? You did it with that weak ass pretty boy? I mean, I can understand why you let him hang off you at school to please the masses, but actually screwing him? Did he tell you he loves you and that he'll always keep you safe? Did he tell you that you're beautiful so he could get in your pants?"

"Shut the fuck up, you whore!" She spun around to face me, fair hair whipping around like a sand storm. With two quick steps her hands were on my chest as she shoved me hard, sending me sprawling onto the bed. Before I could react she was kneeling above me, legs straddling my hips with my wrists grasped between her fingers and held fast against the bed. Her face was only inches above mine, her delicate features a mix of pain and anger. So close that I could smell her scent and feel her hair brush against my cheek.

"Here's what's going to happen, Santana." She growled down at me in a fierce whisper, pushing her weight down onto me as I tried to throw her off. "You're going to shut the fuck up. You're going to keep your mouth shut. You are not going to say a word to anyone about me. You are not going to gossip with Brittany or drop hints to Coach Sylvester or spread rumours to anyone else. Because I know about you, Santana. I know all about you, and the minute that I hear you've been talking about me behind my back will be the minute you regret for the rest of your life." She let go of my arms and sat up, still keeping me pinned by her legs. "Finn loves me. He is brilliantly talented. I will sort this out, and then we will both get college scholarships and move far away from here."

"There's just one problem with your perfect little plan. You don't love him."

She regarded me through narrow eyes, all or her composure and arrogance returned. "I think it's about time you got over your silly little crush, Santana." She slid off the bed and crossed the room to open the door. "And I think it's about time that you got out of my house."

I made my way to the door, stopping to look at her. She turned her head away; chin lifted, eyes straight as though I wasn't even worth her time.

"Fuck you, Quinn."

She closed the door behind me. I didn't look back.


	4. Chapter 4

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
What's this? Two updates in one day? Can it be true?  
Let's just hope it continues  
Thanks for reading guys! Please leave me a review, let me know what you like, what you hate, what mistakes I've made, what can be improved. I'd really appreciate it!  
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I'm crying. I'm disgusted at myself. I can't control it.

I saw the hurt in her eyes as I shouted those words at her. Words that I didn't really mean. Words that came from my own pain, from a desire to make her feel the way that I did. Words that came from the pain of knowing that she didn't want me, or need me, or trust me. Words that came from the fear inside of me, the fear that stopped me from reaching out to hold her, to look after her in her time of need.

I didn't make it far, after I stormed out of her room and down the stairs, staring resolutely ahead. Pretending not to notice the flicker of curtains as she watched me leave, spilling light onto the driveway.

I made it as far as the park on the corner before I gave in and staggered over to a tree and slid down its trunk to sit on the ground, hiding in the darkness as the tears ran down my cheeks. I wrapped my arms around my knees and pressed my face against them, choking back the sobs that threatened to escape. I sobbed silently, alone in the shadows, curled up against myself. My body shook as I tried to hold the pain inside.

How could I treat her like that? I didn't deserve her.

How could she do this to me? How could she do this to herself?

Why wouldn't she admit what she really wanted?

Is it because she's a coward?

Like me?

The sun slipped further below the horizon as I sat there, unaware of time passing. The streetlights flickered to life, but I remained safely hidden in the shadows. It seemed like hours had passed before I could bring myself to move. I slowly raised my head, glancing around me at the dark landscape made bright by my tears. I scrubbed furiously at my eyes with one hand while the other fished in my pocket, desperate to contact the one person who had never failed me.

She was there within minutes, standing in front of me with a look of confused concern on her face. I pushed myself to my feet, brushing away the dirt and leaves, trying to regain some level of composure.

"Santana. Why are you crying?" Her voice was soft, always with that underlying note of innocence. Her simplicity kept her pure. No matter what you did to her, Brittany would always forgive you, like a puppy ready to come at your call.

"It's nothing, Brit." Lying to her was always easy. I smiled and took her hand. "Let's have a sleepover tonight. Ok? Your place?"

She nodded in that easy way that she had, lacing her fingers through mine. It was so easy to be with her, to walk in silence, hand in hand. She didn't push or pry. She understood how things were between us.

She let me into her house, into her bedroom. My hands reached for her of their own accord. My lips pressed against hers; she let me into her mouth. She let me into her heart.

Her body was warm, her skin smooth. Her hair was the right shade, but the wrong style. Her legs were too long, the muscles too well defined. But she was willing, and she was comforting. We fell onto the bed together, limbs entwined, lips locked. I pressed myself against her, pulling her body against me. I needed this. I needed to feel this connection to someone who was _almost_ right. Someone who didn't try to control me or consume me. Someone who knew how to just be in the moment, to simply exist, without concern of the who or why.

As she slowly peeled my clothes away, I forced my mind to disconnect from thought; forced it to focus on nothing but the physical of the here and now. I ran my hands along her sides and pressed my lips against neck, moving automatically in the practised rhythm that we had long since perfected. I felt her fingers slide down my body, brushing against places that made me react in ways that cannot be consciously controlled.

And in the warmth between the sheets and her skin, I closed my eyes.

I closed my eyes and imagined a different blonde in her place.


	5. Chapter 5

Every time it happens I wake up feeling empty.

Sex is one of the most natural forms of human interaction. It fulfils a biological role, to reproduce. It is the physical answer to a biological need. It is the meal that our sexual hungers crave. It relieves stress, releases endorphins, cures headaches. Hell, it's just a great form of recreation to pass the time when you're bored. 

But it's powerful. It gets inside your head, your heart, your soul. As much as you try to convince yourself that sex is just sex, your heart knows otherwise. It reaches out for that connection to another person, the spiritual mirror of the physical act. You can try to stop it. You can ignore it. You can pretend it isn't there. You can tell your mind to switch off, to do nothing more than focus on breath, and movement, and sensation. You can tell yourself it doesn't matter, that you're beyond such trivial emotions. That you're immune to harm. That you're in control.

But it doesn't matter what you do. It catches up with you. It pulls you down into the darkness of your own conscience and reminds you of the things that matter.

I can fall asleep in Brittany's arms, physically exhausted, thinking that I am content. But when I wake suddenly in the darkness, I feel the emptiness. I feel cold. I feel alone. I feel the truth in my lies.

When I pretend I'm using a man, I know that he's really the one using me. I'm a beautiful empty shell. A pretty package that entices, that incites lust. I pretend I have the power, I pretend that I'm in control. I dictate the terms. I take the lead. I ignore the reality. I ignore the fact that I'm tearing myself to shreds inside.

I cause pain. I push the emotions aside. I belittle those who try to connect, those who reach a little deeper. I laugh at them. I herald myself as untouchable. I declare them to be soft. Easy to crush, and easy to throw aside.

I see the pain in Brittany's eyes each time she dares to ask for more. I see the acceptance, as I react in the way she expects, not the way that she hopes. I tell myself that she knows how it is; it's her own fault if she sticks around. It's her own fault if she expects better from me, when she knows that I have nothing better to give.

I pretend that I don't see what else she sees. I pretend that I don't see the understanding, or the pity. I pretend I don't know what I'm doing to her. Because I do know. I know that she understands why I am the way that I am. I know that she understands how I feel. I know that she understands what it's like to want more from someone than what they're willing to give.

I don't want her to understand. It makes it so much harder to hurt her.

I'm fine. I'm strong. I don't need anyone.


	6. Chapter 6

When she's not around, I notice. Her absence speaks to me just as loudly as her presence.

It's been weeks since that night in her room. On the surface it seems as though nothing has changed between us. We are both adept at hiding the truth. We hide behind out uniforms and our reputations. We use our beauty and our status as shields to guard us from reality. So no one ever sees what goes on beneath the surface. To the outside world we present a united front, the queens of our domain. But in private, she will hardly say a word. She'll hardly deign to look at me. She'll leave a room, rather than stay alone with me for more than a moment.

But when I'm in a crowded place, and she's not by my side, keeping up appearances, I notice. When she's not in class, I stare at the empty chair, as though it might hold a shadow in her honour. When she's not at lunch, I lose any appetite I might have had. When she's not there, I feel as though I'm not either.

So I search. I wander through the halls, pausing in the places she likes to frequent. I circle the buildings, peering into each shadow. But in the end it's sound that helps me, not sight. I hear the smallest sound, and I know instantly by the way that my body reacts. It's her, and she's in pain, and every fibre in me wants to reach out and help, to heal her, to take away any drop of darkness that dares to attempt to dim her brightness.

She sits huddled with her back against a wall, knees drawn to her chest. Her hands cover her eyes, her fingers claw at her skin, as though she's attempting to wrench the pain from her mind. She looks up as she hears me approaching, and the façade of perfection is gone. Tears course down her cheeks leaving inky streaks. Her skin is flushed, the edges of her eyes a dark red. But somehow, even at her worst I still see nothing but beauty. The tears make her eyes seem brighter; her lips are darker, drawing attention to the perfect shape.

"Santana," she sobs, dropping her hands helplessly against the ground. "What am I going to do?"

I'm hesitant. I'm not used to a Quinn with her defences down. I'm not sure of what my role is in a game without rules. I don't want to hurt her. I don't want her to hurt me.

The only thing to do is to stop thinking, and to just act. I sit down beside her, and for the first time in a long time she doesn't fight. She lets me put my arms around her, and she moulds her body against me, pressing her face against my neck. I feel the hot dampness of her tears and the feather-warmth of her breath, and for a moment the closeness makes it difficult to register that this is not a happy moment. I should not be glad that she's in pain, not even for a moment, even if it does mean that she'll let me hold her. So I try to ignore the shiver that runs down my spine, and the way that my heart is beating too fast. Shit, can she hear it? I hope she can't hear it.

How selfish am I, worrying about such trivial things while she's crying as though her heart has been ripped in two? Her whole body shakes, and even though she holds her hand against her mouth the muffled sounds of her sorrow still escape, and the noise is enough to break the heart of anyone who hears it. I pull her closer, trying to surround her with myself, to stop anything else from getting close enough to hurt her.

It seems like hours pass before the noise begins to die down, and her body stops shaking. Slowly her muscles relax, her hand falls away from her face to rest in my lap. Her breathing transitions from shuddering gasps, to hiccoughs, and slowly becomes regular again. I stay where I am, and she doesn't try to pull away.

"He kicked me out. My dad." Her voice is a hoarse whisper, thick with emotion. "Finn came over for dinner last night, and the idiot thought it would be a good idea to tell my parents that I'm… that I'm…" she drew in a long, shuddering breath. "Well, you can imagine how that went down."

I didn't say anything. She didn't seem to need a response, just someone to listen. Her head was still nestled on my shoulder, so close that my cheek was pressed against the softness of her hair. Even while I hated the reason for this sudden closeness, I didn't want it to end. So I kept my arms wrapped around her as I sat there in silence.

"He kicked me out. He wouldn't talk to me. He wouldn't even look at me. God, how could I have been so stupid? How could I have let this happen? What sort of life can I have now? Getting pregnant means no cheerleading. No college scholarship. No ticket out of this hell hole. I'm going to end up just like the rest of these Lima Losers, a miserable housewife with a pathetic husband and a wash basket full of broken dreams." She tilted her head back and stared into my eyes, like a silent plea to be understood. "I'm not like them, Santana. I can't do it. I won't survive."

"I know you're not." I couldn't look away from those eyes, not even if I tried. "So _fuck_ them. Be who you want to be. Do what you want to do. Choose the life that you want."

"With a baby on board?" She sighed, dropping her gaze back to the floor. "No, Santana. It's over for me." She pushed herself up from the ground, pulling away from my arms. For a moment she looked at me, and I almost thought I saw something in her face – regret for the loss of something she'd never acknowledge. But it was gone in a moment, and she kissed me quickly on the cheek. "Thank you, for being my friend."

I reached out and grabbed her hand before she could move away. "Quinn. You can always stay with me." There was an offer of more than just shelter in those words, and the sadness in her eyes told me that she understood. But her reply was firm, and final.

"Oh Santana, you know that can't happen. I'm staying with Finn. It's where I'm meant to be."


End file.
